


Five Conversations Booth Had With Pops, and One He Didn't

by LadyChi



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-10
Updated: 2010-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyChi/pseuds/LadyChi





	Five Conversations Booth Had With Pops, and One He Didn't

It's been a good few days.

Well, not good, exactly. But close enough. Seeley's managed to get Jared up and out of bed before Dad wakes up, then downstairs to quietly put together breakfast. There's not enough milk – there hasn't been for the last few days, so Jared gets the last bit of it and Seeley eats his cereal dry. They're running low on that, too.

Seeley checks to make sure Jared has his homework in his backpack and that his hair's combed and his teeth are brushed. There's not much he can do about the fact that Jared's pants are a little short but he can make sure that his too-small shoes are tied in a double knot.

7:15.

The sounds upstairs mean that Dad's getting around for work, if they're lucky. If he gets up and he goes, then in a week's time there will be a little money, and if he doesn't blow it all on booze, Seeley knows, then maybe there will be groceries again.

It hadn't always been like this. It was never like this before Mom died. Dad might've gone on a bender a few times, shouted things about the war and gone on rampages, but he'd never been like this. Quick, angry. Swift to deal out justice or stop any sound from escaping the boys' mouths. It hadn't taken Seeley long to learn to avoid his fists, but Jared... Jared was just a stupid kid, and sometimes he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Seeley couldn't let Jared take that – not when it was his job to look after Jared, make sure he stayed out of trouble. So more often than not, it was Seeley who wore the long shirts to school and who walked with a limp when Dad decided to use his feet as well as his hands to drive home a point.

There's a thump and a loud curse, and Seeley freezes, right in the middle of putting away the last bit of Corn Flakes. His heart starts to beat a thousand times a minute and he knows, the way a cornered deer knows, that what is about to happen is going to be particularly painful.

He grabs Jared's arm.

“C'mon,” he says quietly, tugging him up and away from the table. “We've got to go.”

“Seeley,” Jared whines. “It's like, ten degrees out there and the bus won't be here for ages.”

“Yeah, well, Dad's awake and he's already cussin'.”

Jared's eyes harden. “Let him come down here and beat us, I don't care. I'd rather be bleeding than cold.”

“I'm the big brother and I say we're going,” Seeley says forcefully. “Now grab your coat and let's go.”

It's too late. Dad's coming down the stairs, and Seeley realizes with horror that he's left his backpack on the bottom step. If Dad's awake, maybe he'll skip it and it won't be a big deal, but if he's not...

Dad trips, and that's the end of the good days.

The shouting before the beating isn't so bad. Seeley knows he made a mistake, that he shouldn't have left his backpack out for someone to trip on. It's his fault, really. He didn't do a good enough job being a good kid, and so now he's gonna get beat. That makes sense to him. That's the way the world works, and when Dad reaches for his belt, he's already steeled himself and told himself not to cry. Not with Jared's big eyes watching him from a hiding spot behind the kitchen door.

Once the belt starts to bite, Seeley starts to think about Mom. He remembers the way the house smelled when she was here and the way she looked when he'd done something right. If she could see him now, she'd scold him for not doing his job, for not taking care of his brother. He couldn't exactly remember what she looked like mad, but he tried to picture it now.

The front door opens and a voice breaks through. “How're my boys?” Then there's silence. “You son of a bitch.”

Seeley's floating on a haze of pain, and sinks gratefully to the stairs, holding on to his backpack. Maybe, if he can just find the ability to move, to put it away, it'll make up for the mistake before.

“Get out!” he hears. It's Pops. Pops is here and the house is a mess. Mom would have a fit. Desperately, he starts throwing things where they belong. “You don't deserve to be a father. Beating my grandsons. I ought to kill you myself. Get out of this house. Right now.”

The next thing Seeley knows, Pops is marching Dad upstairs and throwing his things in a bag. “I paid for this house,” Seeley can hear Pops saying, “and I won't stand for you to be beating your children in my house.”

The last time Seeley see his father, Pops has him by the back of the shirt, and he's throwing him out the door.

“You gonna be okay, squirt?” Hank asks him.

Seeley nods. He thinks he's going to be fine.

**

His roommate gave him a plastic basketball. It's small, fits in the palm of his hand, and he's squeezing it, trying to crack the surface. If he can break that perfectly round sphere, then it won't be the only thing in the room that's broken. His shoulder's a mess. Freshman year and his life's already fucked. The weight of his misery is too much and he throws his legs over the side of his bunk and reaches for the phone next to his bed.

It doesn't take long. A few short rings and Pops picks up the other line. “This is Hank, what do you want?”

“Hey Pops, it's me.”

“Squirt!”

Seeley grins. Some things never change. “Pops, I'm over six feet tall now. You're still going with squirt?”

“When you were home last weekend you still hadn't cracked three feet,” Pops said. “Shut up and allow an old man his delusions. How's school going?”

“It's fine.”

“You able to handle practice on top of all of your classes?” Seeley can hear pots rustling around. “Jared, put that damn video game away and set the table!”

“Yeah, that's all fine Pops,” Seeley says, and coughs. “I told you I hurt my shoulder in the last game, right?”

“You might have mentioned something like that,” Pops says. “Did you ice it up good?”

“Yeah. They gave me some pills for the pain, too.”

Pops laughs. “I remember one time, buddy of mine pulled out his back unloading this freight truck. The doctors gave him these pills... man was an incoherent mess for days.”

“Nothing quite that good,” Seeley admits. “But I've been feeling all right. Listen, Pops. They're not going to let me play anymore.”

There's a pause at the other end of the line. “What are they going to do about the scholarship?”

“It's gone at the end of semester,” Seeley says, and rubs his eyes. “Pops, I took a look at what tuition costs. We qualify for those loans and the grant, but...”

“I'm sorry, Seeley. We just can't do it without the scholarship.”

Seeley sighs, and lays back on the bed. “I know, Pops. I know. Listen, I think it's time to go to Plan B.”

There's a pause. “You sure that's what you want?”

“Always figured I'd do my time. I just thought I'd get through ROTC first. The recruiter at school thinks I could make it through Ranger school. I think I'll give it a shot.”

“You decide to do Ranger school, you don't just 'give it a shot', Squirt. You've got to know that's what you want to do, one hundred percent, or they'll spit out your bones when they're done with you.”

“If I do this, that's how I want to do it,” Seeley says, firmly.

“All right,” Pops agrees, and he coughs. “Listen, Squirt. No matter what you decide to do, I'm proud of you, right?”

Seeley laughs so he won't cry. “Right, Pops. Love you.”

“Love you, too. Now get off the damn phone. You're hogging the line.”

**

The plane touches down, and Seeley Booth is in civilian clothes, permanently. Honorably discharged with eight years of service, his degree firmly in hand from a long-distance school.... he is finally coming home.

Sort of. DC was going to be home. He wasn't going back to Philly. He still had some friends there, and it wasn't all bad memories, but this was his chance to make something of himself. Something that wasn't attached to killing people from 1500 feet.

He has a number of job interviews lined up. People that want security, his unique skillset. With his GPA, he'd got job offers with the CIA and the Defense Department. Still. That doesn't seem like too much of a departure from what he'd done before.

Father Brogan had said something to him, the day he'd left the base.

“Sarge, don't go off half-cocked trying to make it up to God.”

Booth had turned. “What?”

“Don't try to make it up to God. He's already forgiven you – you just have to forgive yourself. Render unto Caesar.”

As soon as he's in the terminal, he turns his phone on and he dials the only number he knows by heart these days.

“Hello?”

“Pops, it's me. I'm back in-country.”

“Squirt! Welcome home!” There's rustling and something strange in the background.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm fishing, of course. What else is a man to do the day he retires, eh? Was about to snag the son of a bitch, too, before you called me. How was the flight back?”

“Uneventful.”

“Just the way I like 'em,” Hank says seriously. “Got yourself a placed lined up?”

“Yeah, I'm going to stay with an old Army buddy for a few days,” Booth says, finding a bench in the airport and sitting down. “I want to have a job before I do anything serious.”

“Listen, I think you should consider being a cop,” Hank says. “I know I've said it before and you always laugh, but I think you'd get a kick out of it.”

“I've got a job interview with CIA,” Booth says. “That's kind of like being a cop.”

“No, that's kind of like being a spook.” There was a splash. “Got you now! HA! He's a cocky old bastard but I've got him snagged. Listen, squirt.”

Booth swallows a laugh. “What?”

“Don't rush into anything. You've got yourself some money. Find the job that's right for you. Set up a place. Get your bearings. Slow and steady wins the race.”

“Yeah, sure, Pops.”

“Yeah, sure, Pops,” Hank mocks. “Smart ass. Get off the phone, I'm trying to catch my supper.”

**

He'd been driving all night. Mostly as a way to clear his head, with no particular destination in mind. At least that's what he thought until he was halfway to Philly, until he was halfway home.

 _Pregnant._

He slams his wrist into the steering wheel. Rebecca is pregnant. Hell.

There's no question of what to do: he's Catholic, he's got a job, he's got a place. He's gotta ask her to marry him, and he already half-suspects that she'll say no. She's already saying things like “visitation” and “child support” and “maintain my independence”.

This isn't the way he wanted to do this. He wanted to do something right for a change. Be the right sort of man. Put-together. Ready. Secure. He doesn't know the first thing about parenting.

He stops outside of Pop's house, and puts the truck in park. He should go in. He should tell Hank that he's about to be a grandfather, at least.

Then there's a voice. It sounds faintly like his grandfather's, and it's in the back of his head. It says: _What the hell are you doing here? Man up, Seeley Joseph. You don't run away from the woman who's going to have your child. Turn back around and do the right thing._

And so he does.

**

“It's just this case, Pops.” Booth's on the phone. “I've only been assigned to it an hour and I can tell you it's already going to be impossible.”

“Found the body at the bottom of a lake, huh?”

“ME took a look on the equipment they use to scan the water. Says there's little to no chance he'll be able to identify the body.”

“Why don't you call in that bones lady?”

“Doctor Brennan?”

“Yeah, her. She seemed like a big help the last time you were stuck like this.”

“She's supposed to get back from Guatemala today,” Booth says, rubbing his eyes. “I've already called her assistant several times. He won't tell me anymore than that.”

“You're a Fed. You can figure out what flight someone's on,” Hank says, from his armchair in Philadelphia. “Go get her. From what you said last time, sounds to me like she's someone who just needs friends.”

“Bones? What she needs is a good swift kick to the rear and a reality check.”

“Seeley Joseph, I did not raise you to speak about women that way.”

Booth coughs. “You're right, Pops, I'm sorry.”

“Besides, you're not mad at her. Your pride's hurt. Suck it up. There's a dead person who's counting on you. Get off the phone with me and go get the bone doctor.”

“You're right, Pops,” Booth says, and closes his phone. “You're absolutely right.

Turning the TV back on to the morning news, Pops reaches for his glass of orange juice. “Of course I'm right. I'm always right.”

**

Parker Booth is standing with his father in a cemetery. As often as his father visits places like this, it's not often that Parker is with him.

His father is sad. Bones is standing with him, holding his other hand, and they're both in tears.

Pops is gone and he isn't coming back.

Dad walks to the coffin and whispers something Parker can't hear. Bones squats next to him. “Would you like to say goodbye?” She asks. Parker likes that she asks him questions, gives him choices. Not many grown-ups he knows do.

“Where is he?”

“His body's in the coffin,” she says matter-of-factly. “Your father would want me to tell you that his soul is in heaven.”

“So why say good-bye here?”

“It's a ritualistic rite,” Bones starts to say, but then she catches herself. “It's a way to make yourself feel better.”

“Yeah, okay.” Parker walks up to the coffin, and grabs his father's hand. “Bones says I can say good-bye.”

“Bones is right,” Dad says, wiping his eyes. “If you want to say good-bye to Pops, then you certainly can.”

“Can I do it alone? It's just... I have a secret to tell him,” Parker says.

“Yeah, sure, buddy.” Dad looks a little surprised, but he ruffles Parker's hair and walks away. Parker lays a hand on the coffin.

“Pops, I know you're in heaven right now, and I'm really glad cause now I know you can keep an eye on Dad all the time, right?” Parker nods his head. “I'm going to miss you a lot, but Dad needs the help.” There's no answer, but Parker wasn't really expecting one. “See you, Pops.”

He waves a little, and he walks away. 


End file.
